


I scare myself

by Lyrisadvst



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Other, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrisadvst/pseuds/Lyrisadvst
Summary: Will run's up the stairs of the basement to chase down Mr latronm, leaving Lyra and her Mother alone for a very serious, emotional and angry talk.{Rewrite of 2x05 of HDM}I'm using all the feels.OR- What would have happened if Lyra and Marisa were left alone; and for once tried to be truthful with each other.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Pantalaimon, Marisa Coulter & Marisa Coulter's Daemon
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously; I just apolgise and have no idea where I was going with any of this. I'm sorry!! <3

Lyra stood within Boreal’s presence waiting with Pantalaimon, her dæmon; whom took the form of a Red Panda.

She stood waiting for Will, waiting for their plan to unfold slowly before her eyes.

Yet the longer she stood in the night bathed in a sea of coldness, the more impatient who she knew to the name of Mr Latronm grew.

It was evident to her that he wanted her inside.

She could feel it, within every fibre of her bone, every single drop of blood, every single whisper in her mind from Pan, they both were aware he was _desperate_ for them to enter his home.

He clearly had something or _someone_ he wanted her to get within the grasp of.

Part of her mind was hinting at her to think of her Mother.

Yet surely it was impossible. Her mother wouldn’t travel h _ere_. Not to this world, surely not.

She was within the Magisterium, it was known as, deemed as pure heresy within their world.

Her mother couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ risk everything for the sake of a _girl_ whom had ran away from her countless times.

Destroyed as she called it, ‘her calling’ of her life’s work.

Yet part of Lyra felt a calling within that house.

A blood-curling dangerous calling that she should leave.

Flee, change the plan with Will; think of a better one in fact. She knew however, it was simply too late.

They’d come to far to back out of the plan that felt so well thought out; the scheme they’d planned.

The anger, pain, sadness – that was so intertwined that perhaps their names ought to be tweaked and adjusted to reflect the true origins of those emotions, the true light upon them.

That’s what she’d remembering being taught so well within life. Well not at first, not within Lyra’s mind.

Her innocence was deemed so precious, so pure like the feast of starlight, or one’s fruit before the serpent upon Eve.

Yet here her mind had been drilled. Drilled to feel such, pain, such anger for someone of her age.

It was undoubtable Lyra had felt what _no_ 13-year-old girl should feel, only ruin and death had been brought upon her mind since her adventure had decided to take it’s travels towards the North.

Lyra found her mind had clearly wandered its thoughts from whatever Boreal had been rambling about.

She stood emotionless, cold and almost deemed as one called heart-less that glinted within her eyes a strong courageous feeling.

“Lyra. Little young Lyra. Are you sure you don’t wish to enter? It _must_ be frightfully cold out there. You’ll catch a cold standing there, especially within that thin layer of jacket.”

He nodded at her with a strange unreadable tone laced into his voice.

Lyra wasn’t too keen upon whatever tone he’d used as it frightened her to her core.

Yet Lyra shivered at the ideology of being weak. She couldn’t afford weakness, fear or even remotely key of being betrayed.

She’d been lead astray so many times it was far too much of a risk. She’d lost so much, so much time, so much within her life.

Friend’s, acquaintances, most importantly her innocence.

It was at that moment, just as she hesitated to respond to Mr. Latronm, a powerful screech came from inside the house itself.

She thought it was Will for a split second, yet the screech was animal like. And it was strong, powerful.

It had clearly been filled with anger; a hatred so strong it was capable of piercing the ears of anybody if it wished.

Then followed by the scream came a cry. A cry so painful, Lyra almost gasped aloud.

_Will._

Pan whispered his name so quietly within Lyra’s thought’s she’d almost forgotten he was there completely.

At that she knew she had very little choice. She _must_ go and help will. She was left to defend him.

There was no chance in hell, that Lyra was going to leave Will with Mr Latronm and whatever else he had locked within the depths of his home.

She took one last look at Boreal; glaring into his what she could describe nothing as emotionless- soulless eyes before fleeing.

It was rather ironic to think one’s eyes soulless, considering Lyra was aware one deemed the eyes as the ‘key to a person’s soul.’

Yet there was no time to be contemplating or thinking upon what Mr Latronm was or was not, she had to help Will.

She couldn’t let someone else down upon her behalf.

Lyra had let Roger slip through her fingers at the hands of her father.

She’d die and suffer at the hands of another if she must, if she’d even remotely let Will get hurt in the hands of not being able to protect him.

She heard Mr Latronm following her swiftly after; yet he seemed not to be running only walking at a rather, speedy yet calmed pace.

It was almost as though he seemed to know what was occurring down below, with what Lyra had now figured it must be the basement, or some form of room below the house itself.

Still, she had no time to think of what, or whom was following her, only of rescuing Will and grabbing that alethiometer as fast as she was able.

Lyra flew into the room as she heard Will’s voice echoing in the room with a mixture of someone’s that sounded familiar to herself, yet she wasn’t able to figure out just quite whom it belonged to.

“Will!” Lyra shouted loudly as her feet carried her fast into the room, Pan following her swiftly in.

“Lyra!” He screeched at her.

It was this moment Pan ran ahead of Lyra and stopped dead in his tracks at the dæmon who sat before him, along with the person of who’s dæmon it belonged to.

Lyra however, hadn’t been as fast as Pantalaimon to click in to who stood in front of her.

As she made her way down the stairs a voice echoed into her mind, until she realised it wasn’t only a mere echo.

It wasn’t simply just a trick of the mind, a replay of a voice she wished to forget.

It was real, and the owner of the voice was too here.

“Lyra…” The voice seeped into the room, giving off a metallic smell.

If voices gave of smell’s the voice of Lyra’s mother would be poison, metallic, destroying the mind, crumbling you to sin.

“No...” Was all Lyra could muster out of her voice, it fell out weak, and frightened; exactly how she did _not_ wish to be perceived.

Lyra spun quickly around, as her mother once again repeated her name, more desperate and softer in ways that Lyra wished to never hear, yet never stop hearing all at once.

It was intoxicating, poisoning and emotionally draining.

She almost felt like she was melting into a pool.

_This is okay Lyra. Remain calm._

She heard Pan whimper slightly within her and her instant thought back was _how._

However, when she’d turned around, she saw Mr Latronm (although she was suspecting more and more it was not his true name,) heading for the stairs and exiting the room.

With that she looked over her shoulder and made eye-contact with Will and he nodded at her in pure understanding as he headed to follow him.

When Will had sped swiftly past Lyra and out the door; Lyra heard Will and Mr Latronm fumbling before she heard a key turn, and utter realisation took over…

The door had been locked.

Lyra was left alone; with her Mother.

Turning slow back around, it was only then she’d realised she had tears threatening to spill from her eyes, as her entire body froze with fear, anger and pure shock.

Her mother approached her, however stopped at the sofa and sat down upon the cushion’s laid upon it.

“Sit down… Lyra _please._ ”

There it was again, Lyra noticed.

The same soft tone she’d heard from her mother back at Bolvangar; back at the station.

Before Lyra’s mouth could even respond with a strong and firm ‘ _No_ ’, Lyra felt her own legs, her own body betraying her.

As soon as her mind caught up with her it was far too late.

Lyra’s legs and Pan himself moved with her and they were stood directly in front of her mother.

Lyra let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding before, slowly and hesitantly sitting down next to her mother.

Marisa turned to face her, her face full of sadness, pain and somehow Lyra thought she was imagining it but love.

Yet that couldn’t be possible. Her mother surely wasn’t capable of _love._

She’d seen what her mother had been capable of.

Destroying other people; hurting other people just for the sake of dust.

What was deemed by ‘The Authority’ and the Magisterium as sin.

She’d seen her mother hurting her directly, using her dæmon to hurt Pantalaimon, to hurt her.

Lyra was aware her mother _could_ be so good sometimes, even loving; to the extent where she wanted to believe it.

Yet she couldn’t, she mustn’t.

“Here, I do believe this is yours.” Lyra observed her mother’s movements and gasped when she saw her handing her the alethiometer.

There was no way, it couldn’t be that her mother was _willingly_ handing Lyra the alethiometer.

“Take it… here.”

Her mother once again held the alethiometer her way and Lyra didn’t know how to respond.

She wanted to trust her. She wanted to believe her.

Yet she couldn’t, it was manipulation; all of it.

All for ‘power wielding’, and the ideology of moulding her into someone she was not.

“And why should I trust you?”

Lyra added as much poison, as much hatred into the sentence she could muster, until she felt some form of guilt wash over herself at the sight of her mother’s tears glistening within her eyes.

A sigh then escaped Marisa’s lips as she was evidentially contemplating upon what to say next to her daughter that was now so close within her grasp.

She looked around and back at her own dæmon, and it was this moment that Lyra realised how close Pan was to the Golden Monkey.

He was dangerous close.

However, he didn’t seem as wary, as frightened as she was.

In fact, she felt the confidence radiating of him, she felt it in her mind, flowing through her body making herself want to trust her mother once more. This gave Lyra such a conflict of emotions.

She felt Pantalaimon feeling the contrasting battle of emotions himself, yet he made no signs nor intentions of moving away from her mother’s dæmon.

Her dæmon in fact moved close enough to Pan that he was in reach of him; and that is exactly what her dæmon did.

The Golden Monkey slowly, but with a little confidence reached out and touched Pan, and he did not flinch.

He sat there calmly before moving slowly with hesitance, yet still did so and moved to the Monkey and curled his tail into him.

Lyra looked back at her mother and it was to both of their realisations they were both crying; undeniably and without fear, their emotions that were held back by so many barriers, had broken.

Suddenly Lyra realised; they were back where they started.

“I know… you don’t believe me, but I- I’m only trying to protect you,” And to this Lyra let out a half-choked laugh cascaded and drowned in tears.

Marisa’s eyes widened at her daughter’s lack of sympathy or even remote caring of emotion towards her.

“Protect me? Where was your _protection_ when your dæmon, when he,”

Lyra pointed at the Golden Monkey and Pan lifted his head up with surprise.

Knowingly, he wrapped his tail in a protective manner around the Monkey causing a small yet grateful whimper from him.

The Monkey was clearly in fear, of both Marisa and somewhat Lyra therefore wrapped his own arms around Pan as they remained wrapped around each other.

However, this did not go unnoticed to Lyra nor her mother, as they tried their best to ignore the gut-wrenching feeling; they felt of their dæmon’s being wrapped around each other.

It was a strange feeling.

One that felt as though, your heart was being ripped to shreds; yet being held together by your very core.

It was startling, comforting and frightening all in one.

“When _he_ attacked MY dæmon. Where was _your_ protection when the people at Bolvangar grabbed Pantalaimon out of my grasp as they tried to **_separate_** us? WHERE WAS YOUR DAMN PROTECTION WHEN YOUR HUSBAND TRIED TO KILL ME WHEN I WAS A BABY?!”

The final sentence was out before Lyra could even stop herself and at that Pantalaimon couldn’t help but speak up himself.

“Lyra enough.” He blurted out, calmly; yet sternly.

He felt her anger, understood her. Yet he was all too aware of how she was capable of going one step too far.

Deep down Lyra knew, she _knew_ her near death as a child, was far from her mother’s fault. It was just the anger that simmered and boiled over like a pot brewing too long.

It was however, the first time Pan had spoken in the presence of Mrs Coulter, therefore it took them both by surprise.

It was common for dæmon’s to speak within the presence of a family member; however, this was rather a _dysfunctional family,_ at that.

“I couldn’t _protect_ you then; I had no choice… but to let you go. I couldn’t get near you, and Asriel fought him. Yes, the affair was scandalous, but I _loved,_ your father then. I still do. It’s not an easy situation Lyra. And I’m _SORRY,_ if me being who I am has done you damage. I tried to do my best by you since. No, I may _not_ be the best mother, but I’m hardly mother material, and you’re hardly daughter material ether. It’s a learning curve for both of us. And, _I am sorry._ ”

Mrs Coulter couldn’t help but begin to cry weakly yet verbally and with power in front of her daughter.

Lyra had wormed her way into her heart, just like Asriel had done 13 year’s prior and stole it.

“I’m sorry too.” Lyra slowly stated but looking up at her mother.

To this statement Marisa looked up at her and she moved her hand gently but with care to her daughter’s face as to which Lyra did not flinch away in fact, she leaned into it.

“But I still don’t know how I can trust you.”

“Because I _am_ your mother, And I love you.”

Mrs Coulter finally dropped the bomb that she’d desperately tried to hold back.

Yet she knew if she wanted to keep Lyra within her grasp, within her life in any way, shape or form; she’d have to break down her own walls first.

“No… You- you can’t.”

Lyra didn’t know what to do.

She stood up, quickly turning away from her mother, only to feel a hand grasp her own gently, and spin her gently and cautiously around.

“Look at me. Lyra, _look at me._ ”

To this, Lyra slowly turned around to see tears streaming down her mother’s face and once again, Lyra couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over her.

“Look into my eyes. Do I seem like I am lying to you?”

At this Lyra flopped down onto the sofa once more and Marisa stood up and kneeled in front of her daughter to get down to her level.

“Do I?” She asked Lyra once more and poured everything she was able to muster into her facial expressions, into her eyes.

She poured all the love she was able into her eye’s, into her soul. Into her body.

“No.”

For once Lyra did not lie.


	2. Chapter 2

Lyra sat in the depths of despair awaiting her mother’s response.

She had not yet but a moment ago answered ‘ _no_ ’ to her yet, now her mother sat inches away from her grasp.

Lyra had originated from a cruel place.

She was not raised within her parent’s lives, yet with them was among barbaric conditions, and faced brutality.

And finally, she’d learnt callousness.

Lyra had to learn, and in the process she'd became stone-hearted.

At least to her mother’s eyes, her father was not to be mentioned.

Lyra couldn’t bear to hear his name let alone, let it slip from her own tongue, from her own mouth.

She’d be shackled in irons and deem to a life of poverty, sin and regret before she’d use Lord Asriel’s name upon her lips again.

Yet faced sitting with her mother, locked away like a puppy with their owner, Lyra had little choice with her.

Even if she wasn’t locked in the room, she’d still be in a situation one wouldn’t know how to escape.

Her mother did this to her. She’d twisted Lyra’s mind in so many directions; so many twists and turns, so much poison with doses of hope and love, Lyra wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

She _knew_ deep down Mrs Coulter cared a great deal more than her than her father did.

She’d travelled worlds, risked _everything_ for her.

Watched her own daughter, destroy her life’s work like a wolf whom would slaughter stray sheep within a field.

Lyra was painfully aware her mother perhaps even told her of the truth when she’d declared her love for her daughter.

She must have felt _some_ form of affection towards her, as she’d not be standing here risking everything once more for her.

Yet Lyra was conflicted. She _wanted_ to believe it. She truly did, yet she couldn’t.

She had a difficult time with trust after what she’d experienced on her journey these past months.

Yet sat within her mother’s presence; seeing her eyes glisten and glow with tears, it was gut-wrenching.

Heart grippingly painful, she had nowhere to turn except to her mother.

If Lyra wanted to get out of here, out of this situation she’d have to lie. Lie for her mother.

Lie for her life, for Will’s life and for her own safety.

Mainly because she didn’t want him harmed nor herself, however a part of Lyra knew it went far deeper than that.

It was the pure ideology that she wished not to slip back within the poisonous toxic grasp of her mother.

She couldn’t risk slipping once again into the void, the void painted ever so pristine within a pretty painting.

It was like watching a young girl play with her dollhouse; never once seeing what it’s true nature, its true origins were behind the frame of the walls.

Only painting a picture upon what she wished to perceive, and this was Lyra’s fear.

A painting by her own mother of what she wanted the world to perceive them as.

That she could never be; something or someone she couldn’t pretend to live as.

Once again, Lyra was drawn from the depths of her thoughts; and she quickly planned a scheme.

A deep plan, one that would take her away from her mother; she didn’t wish to think upon how.

All she needed to do with make her mother believe her.

Even it was only a mere few moments before Lyra snapped and turned, became brutal and careless, even cold.

It then dawned on Lyra, and she knew what she must do.

She sat up slightly and closed her eyes, letting her emotion’s take over her.

Pan wasn’t overly keen in this; as a strong part of himself did have affection towards the monkey.

Yet, he trusted Lyra over Mrs Coulter’s dæmon any day.

Lyra opened her eye’s and let the tear stream slowly yet surely down her face, allowing her face to mould into a saddened look.

She then took one last look at her mother before flinging herself forward within her arms.

For a moment, Lyra’s world came to a complete halt, as she felt nostalgia hit her at once.

Her stomach flipped upside down, as her arms wrapped tightly around her mother and felt their bodies clash together like magnets.

For a mere split second, Lyra swore she heard her mother let out a sharp shaky breath of relief; as though she was _glad_ Lyra had done what perhaps she’d wanted to do, yet been to frightened.

Yet it could not be, there was _no_ way her mother was this sentimental.

It was merely a trick of her mind, a foul trick.

One, that she’d equally be angry at herself for even remotely thinking let alone wishing; but a trick and nothing more.

Part of her wanted to remain in her mother’s embrace forever.

She remembered the first day she’d ever embraced her; ever felt her touch, back within the comforting walls of Jordan College.

Lyra was eager, innocent and vaguely an imagine of naivety, her mother a sweet charming woman with a haunting smile.

A smile that comforted Lyra drew her in to her mother’s trickery and deceiving manners; one that haunted and toyed with Lyra’s mind.

She felt her mother’s arms faulter for a moment, questioning upon whether it was safe, before wrapping in a strong embrace around her daughter’s body.

It was a strong grip, more so than the encounter they’d had at Jordan. Those days, however were long gone; much time and discoveries had past since.

It was rather chilling that Lyra wanted to allow herself to relax into this embrace, the feeling of being _wanted._

She’d never had the chance to feel that at Jordan College. Growing up as an orphan, or what she’d assumed as to be an orphan.

Her ‘uncle’ now known father, never had the time for her; to busy chasing funding and on expeditions to and from the north.

She and her dæmon, Pan chased each other around, imagining only a mere memory what a family could have been like for the pair of them.

Playing a sort of game; imagining their features, their warm welcoming home’s and faces, the love she’d have felt.

Yet, when it had been time to bring the games to an end, she remembered they were in fact _only_ games and nothing more.

It was a shame really, all she had to cling to was the small concept of being told their ages and the fact they were supposedly caring, upon dying in an airship.

All she’d had apart from that, had been her dear friend, her _only_ friend Roger.

Even that had been ripped from her grasp and whisked away by the grasp of her parent’s.

She’d learnt the horrifying truth’s bit by bit of them both.

Deep down those truths were in fact the reason Lyra wished she’d remained believing she was nothing but an Orphan.

At least then, she would be able to still play those stupid games with plan a little longer. Hope a little longer.

Dream and wish a little harder. Yet, for a second she wished this were reality.

That her mother was a caring loving, lovely woman. In some ways, Lyra knew it was; at least towards her directly.

She wasn’t entirely hating or disliking her mother, she was strongly aware of her mother’s desperation for her.

It only gave her more of a desperation for her mother.

“You don’t know how happy I am to have you once again in my grasp.” She’d heard her mother barely let out above a whisper.

This caused something to snap in Lyra, something she didn’t know she was capable of even doing until now.

“No. No you’re only _happy_ to have control of me.” Lyra snapped and flung out of her mother’s embrace, Pan fleeing to her side.

“Lyra, you are so like I was. You _must_ trust me and let me help you.” Her mother pleaded with her and allowed the tears to stream freely down her broken face.

Yet Lyra couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ be fooled again, and glared her mother down with the angriest, darkest and cruellest look she could possibly form.

“I am, nor will I _EVER_ be _ANYTHING_ like you. _Ever._ ” Lyra grunted out with the darkest tone she was able to.

She felt a adrenaline of excitement rush through her, as she saw her mother’s facial expression change to realisation.

The realisation, this was _not_ the daughter she found and took into her home at Jordan College.

Lyra chose to repeat the past, and knew exactly how.

Within seconds of saying what she’d wished to say in weeks, she mirrored her mother’s expression she’d done on herself, back at the apartment; the sheer look of anger and snapped.

Pan flung out of his position flying straight toward the Golden Monkey, shifting from a Red Panda to a form of Wolverine before attacking with utter malice.

He bit down hard as he attacked the Monkey flinging him around like a piece of trash that meant nothing to anyone, like Mrs Coulter had once allowed her dæmon to do to Lyra.

Her _own_ flesh and blood.

Lyra almost took pleasure in watching her mother flying to the floor in sheer terror and horror.

She was in shell-shock and in clear pain.

She looked at her daughter from the side; no anger present, just terror, exactly how Lyra had looked at Mrs Coulter the first time she’d experienced the true danger, the true side of her.

She felt every tug, every single action Pan took upon the Monkey, including when he flung him at the wall with such a force, such a power that the Golden Monkey, that it snapped Lyra out of the anger she had.

It was then she realised.

Her mother was looking at her.

Her head turned in a slow-motion force, in a way that you’d see a doll that was old-fashioned designed for those of a different generation to turn.

Her mother was _fighting_ her connection with her dæmon. And it was working.

Bit by bit, Lyra observed in terror her mother began to stand and stare at her with nothing but a blank look painted upon her face.

Yet, this look said more than one sentence could ever state. She found herself in fear, back at square one.

It couldn’t be possible surely, her mother couldn’t have _that_ much control over her self-control, that much control over her connection with her dæmon that she was able to ignore the pain all together.

Yet she was, and she could.

Lyra began to find her chest tightening, as her eye’s filled with tears.

Not just tears of sadness, but tears of fear, tears of pain, years of pain and emotion. Her body shook tremendously as she wasn’t sure how to respond.

Her sight got dizzier by the second, as she noticed Pan take one last look at the Monkey desperate for air, he flung to her aid.

He nudged at Lyra desperate for her to move yet she couldn’t she couldn’t move nor breathe.

She was about to flee; her legs took control of her body, her mind slowly catching up mid attack and she pulled herself together.

Yet as she made a run for the locked door, in order to break it down, she heard the most terrifying ordeal she’d ever hear.

It was a sound she’d never wished to hear again.

“ ** _LYRA!”_**

Her Mother’s voice.

Lyra couldn’t help herself as her head spun around and her eye’s filled with tears, her body shaking once more.

Before she was even aware of what was occurring around her, she felt two strong hands grip around her torso as she was dragged back and fell on something hard on the floor.

Her mother.

It was her mother she’d fallen back on; she lay next to, practically on top of her mother as her hand’s were wrapped around Lyra in a death grip.

It was only then however, Lyra realised they were both screaming and crying.

They were screaming and crying each other’s names; and Lyra felt she may pass out.

“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME.”

That was all Lyra heard in her ear; before her sight went dark and her throat tightened as she felt herself trying to contain a panic attack.

“Mother...” She choked.

The room lay silent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it guys, welcome to my final christmas chapter of sorts!  
> Hope you enjoy and have a lovely christmas! XO

The air in the room lay heavy, strong and intense.

It was as though you were able to physically slit the tension with a knife.

One would simply suffocate at the mere ferocity of the powerful impact that was glazed upon it.

Lyra opened her left eye then her right. She didn’t move, not at first.

Really, she found herself unable to move; every bone in her body wanted her to get up, to let them know she was still able to even use them, but she was unable to bring herself to do so. 

A strong fear held over her as she wanted to look over shoulder; she wanted to look behind back at her mother, bur again she couldn’t.

She decided the best option, her best bet was to relax into her mother’s arms. She knew, or at least Lyra _hoped_ her mother did nothing to hurt her.

However, Lyra knew if Mrs Coulter truly meant what she stated when she’d declared her love and her desperation for Lyra, she’d do her no harm.

Lyra held her breath for a moment, looking down to realise her mother’s arms were loosened in her grip around her.

For a moment she realised she could escape if she wanted.

Escape this inhalation of a death trap, escape this suffering the need that held her back and loosened her take on the world.

Yet a thought, a strong realisation hit Lyra, like a blow of a wind, a whisper of a thought.

Why, just _why_ would her mother’s arms be so loose around her body?

She knew how desperate her mother wanted her, how far she was willing to go with clawing to hell and back for the unknown reason of keeping Lyra within her reach; even if that meant destroying everyone and everything around her.

Yet Lyra felt something brewing, something dark at bay, clawing at the true being within her mother and it frightened her.

Her mother wouldn’t let Lyra so loosely sit in her arms so she dared, Lyra dared as she must to look behind her.

To take one last look behind her shoulder; and this destroyed her.

It destroyed her mind, her soul; herself internally and on the outside.

She saw not the strong, powerful almighty Mrs. Coulter she’d grown to know.

The woman who was never swayed from her true path, never faulted in her steps and took strong strides to her strength to wield not just her own power but Lyra’s too.

She only saw a vulnerable and what Lyra could only merely describe as someone whom had destroyed herself internally.

She was broken now, shattered really, no more of the strong position or up tight woman she portrayed.

Robbed early of the tape and glue necessary to put her soul back together.

Her heart, poorly stapled shut, was beating hard but without purpose, her skin stretched across her aching muscles like a worn canvas. 

It was like the darkness of the true mind had descended upon her mother and Lyra for a moment wasn’t aware of what to do.

It was then she’d realised just how much her mother was correct.

Truthfully, she was correct in so many aspects upon what she’d said.

The ideology of them both not knowing how to be a mother, or in fact Lyra herself not knowing how to be a true daughter rung true within her ears.

She’d never had a mother within her life, and that she’d always craved.

Lyra grew up graving the mere need, the want for a motherly figure within her life, just to care and wish for her in her grasp.

Not even a true biological mother at that, but someone that would want Lyra for herself.

Just someone that would want the mere idea of a Lyra in her life. Truthfully at first, Lyra gave no care to be moulded, in fact she truly wished for it.

If it meant somebody wanted to keep her, _only_ her within their lives, Lyra was happy to give.

It was likely as to why she was so eager, so naive to fall into the trap, into the void of Mrs Coulter’s desperate attempt to keep Lyra.

Now she was here, it was a certain fact something lay extremely wrong with in every layer of foundation.

Lyra could feel it, sense it within her, Mrs Coulter wasn’t the same woman she had knowingly approached just a little while ago.

Her undoing had been her true downfall. It was then Lyra realised she was in fact her own mother’s doing.

 _Lyra_ , herself had caused her mothers downfall. A moment of thrill, relief and pure adrenaline passed through her system.

She’d done what she’d done to her. Broken her down, bit by bit.

Lyra had destroyed her own mother until there was nothing left but sheer anger, destruction and the power of love only a memory floating away into the sky of the world the lay in.

Yet, Lyra knew she should feel happy, or at least elated.

She should feel relieved calm and the fear of dread should be drifting away from her at the knowing she’d caused her mother the _exact_ same pain her mother had caused herself.

However, lying here within her mother’s grasp, within her mothers arms Lyra felt none of that.

Truly deep-down Lyra felt regret. Pure and utter sorrow and regret for the destruction she’d caused around her.

She once vowed she’d never be like her mother, never truly feel the anger and vulgar behaviour she’d felt radiating off her, yet she’d only caused more if not worse until it became nothing but a cycle.

Holding her breath for a second, Lyra took an intake of breath before letting it out sharply and building up all her might before looking over at Pan.

She nodded at him, an agreement an understanding made between the two.

He understood instantly her desires, her wishes at what she craved, what she needed.

All this time she’d spent hiding, running away from destruction, her own downfall of destruction, betrayal and pure hurt.

Lyra expected the further she ran the freer she became, freedom of academics, that’s what she’d remembered once.

Yet sat here she knew that meant nothing.

For she’d been her own betrayer. Betraying many people around her.

Yet, all she realised is that running away intended, created and received only lack of knowledge itself.

She wanted to feel more love rather than destroy it.

Therefore, closing her eyes for a vast mere second, she turned slowly and cautiously within her mother’s arms behind her.

It was then she’d realised the outcome of this treacherous downfall between both of them. Themselves.

It had been in fact nobody else that had caused their destructions, there falling of their maternal relationship but in fact their own.

Her mother lay before her, limp and sobbing; looking weaker and more dangerous than Lyra had ever seen before.

Yet, she knew. She had to take the chance and risk it all.

She didn’t care at this stage how dangerous, how much stupidity anyone thought it may have been.

This was her mother. At likely, the _only_ mother she’d ever get.

She catapulted, practically leapt into her mother’s arms sobbing hysterically.

Lyra felt the raggedy breath of her mothers in her ear, she felt that her mother clearly was cautious and gave off the feeling off what felt like fear.

It was all or nothing and Lyra knew, she had to blurt out what she truly felt.

Yes, the likelihood of the feeling was limited, but it was there. Even if it was small, even if she’d managed to bury it down, the truth was it was still there.

Burning like a furnace within her heart, desperate to get out, to claw itself out of the pit, out of the fires of hell Lyra had buried it down.

Without truly thinking upon how to go about it she let it slide slowly but in the little strength she had left, out of her lips.

“I love you _mother_.”

She’d said it now. Barely above a whisper, but it was out in the open, there was truthfully no going back if she wanted.

She’d said the truth, nothing less and nothing more.

Lyra felt her mother once again faulter in confusion and what felt like surprise before her mother’s arms came up to wrap tightly around her body.

However, this time Lyra did not feel trapped.

She didn’t feel like she did not belong here, within her mother’s arms, nor in this place, she’d never felt more at home.

Now within her mother’s grasp, within her mother’s hold she’d _never_ felt more at ease, more at home where she lay half in and half out of her mother’s grasp.

“My darling Lyra.” She heard her mother barely whisper out.

She relaxed into the hold and sighed.

It may be toxic, it may be completely dangerous and it may be in fact chaotic, but it was home.

It was _Lyra’s home._

“Lyra, we have to go.”

Lyra had heard the echo behind her as the stairs seemed to echo somebody’s foot prints.

_Will's._

She’d forgotten how long she’d truly lay clinging to her mother like a baby did with their mother if they’d had a nightmare.

She looked behind her as she saw Will descend the stairs and fear took over her.

Lyra could drag her mother with her to the other world, but it was far too dangerous, too risky for someone like Mrs Coulter to be there.

Added upon that, could she even be truly trusted? She was Lyra’s mother but she did in fact work for the Magisterium.

This sent a shiver down Lyra’s spine at the mere thought of the Magisterium being the one’s to tear her and her mother down.

However, she had little time to process or even remotely think upon what was occurring as she felt herself being ripped and dragged away in a sheer panic by Will.

With the time Lyra had thought about what the Magisterium could and could not do and how much it was truly capable of.

With the time she’d felt herself drowning within her thoughts, Will had in fact cut a window through back to the other world.

Lyra felt a wave of emotions hit her all at once; dread anger, but understanding.

That still didn’t stop her screaming the sentence, the dreadful words over and over again; like a thought being carried through the wind.

“ _MOTHER. MOTHER. MOTHER!!”_

She’d repeated it over and over again, each time louder than the next.

Lyra knew Will did it for her own good, her own safety, but she was aware Mrs Coulter was the only mother she was _ever_ going to get and a tremendous sob left her throat.

She found her mother screaming upon the floor for her daughter begging for Will to let her go.

She just wanted her daughter, and Lyra her mother.

Yet, like Lyra was once again just born and Mrs Coulter had only just had her scandalous and treacherous affair with Edward Coulter, Lyra was ripped out of the arms of her.

She was torn away nothing but like a piece of paper blowing and ripped from the wind, being ripped like a new-born babe from their mother.

She felt herself ripped through the window and let out one last tremendous scream for her mother.

Without a doubt it was definitely the most powerful and not without a sob.

“MOTHER.”

The window was shut for the final time, leaving nothing but an echo of what once was; leaving Lyra and Marisa without their homes, without each other for yet another time.

“ **LYRA!** ”

The room fell silent, for the final time.


End file.
